


The Last Shot Fired

by sanssouci



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: American Revolution, Drama, Duelling, Family, Gen, Historical Hetalia, Mostly England being dramatic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-21 06:01:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17637173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanssouci/pseuds/sanssouci
Summary: America won a major victory at Yorktown and is one step closer to freedom. Yet England still refuses to recognize the independence of the ascending nation. Feeling humiliated by his former protegee, he demands satisfaction with potentially deadly consequences.





	The Last Shot Fired

The Last Shot Fired

 

 

It was a morning in October when the man in the red coat showed up at the American camp near Yorktown. Only accompanied by a junior officer and without weapons, he was an odd appearance, especially since the British troops had formally surrendered the day before. It was only a matter of time until Mad King George would have to accept the independence of the American colonies. When the guards pointed their arms at the Englishman and asked him what he was looking for, he simply replied that he wanted to see Colonel Alfred Jones. As to why said Jones would want to meet with an enemy, the man would not reveal but he seemed confident that he would be too important for Jones as that he could ignore him.

 

In the camp, America had just finished breakfast and was having tea with France. Independence was becoming a real prospect, even though America could not yet quite conceive that he just vanquished one of the great military power in the world. But the end of war and freedom were just around the corner. Nothing was a better indicator of that than his mentor and sponsor France announcing that he would sail back to Europe the next week.

“Already?” America asked. “You know you are very welcome to stay longer. You are a friend and ally to my people and myself. Surely you’ll be missed.”

France smiled touched by the young nation’s genuine words. The little kid that England had snatched away from him years ago had grown into a polite and well-read adolescent. France could not think of any other nation that had grown up as fast as America had in the past decades. He still remembered the small child that clung with his little fingers to England’s coat-tails, barely able to keep up with his guardian’s steps. Now, America looked around seventeen in human years and already displayed a mature attitude. Though he was still young and learning, America had a keen awareness that he had to build up a state both for his people’s safety and his own survival.

“Thank you for your kind invitation, America,” France said. Then he sighed: “But nationhood does not permit holidays and I have some urgent business to attend to at home. I see my work done here. You just won a great victory and should be proud of yourself. It is only a matter of time until England will see himself forced to respect your independence.”

“I hope you are right about England,” America groaned. “All these years, he was just controlling, nagging, or sometimes completely ignoring me. He was always disappointed with me back when I was his subject. And now I have humiliated him in front of the world. I don’t think he will be very forgiving.”

France nodded and stirred his tea. Looking at the ripples in the hot brew, the older nation said: “I understand why you feel this way. I know myself that England is a sore loser. But let me tell you that his rage tends to be intense and short-lived. Sure, the man knows how to hold a grudge, but his blood will stop boiling after a short while, when it starts exhausting him. Trust me, I have beaten him often enough to know.”

Somehow this was both relieving and satisfying to hear. America could not help cracking a smile. “I hope England will not give you any trouble for helping me.”

France threw his head back laughing. “Let him try! And even if he tried to cause a stir, I would never regret that I had the honor of fighting by your side.”

America blushed. Even though his self-confidence had increased thanks to his recent successes over England, he dreaded that the community of nations would not accept the young rebel. That France believed it was an ‘honor’ to enter battle at his side meant more to America than defeating his soon-to-be former ruler.

“Thank you for what you’ve done. I will never forget it,” America said. He hoped that one day he would have the opportunity to repay France for his aid.

France chuckled. “It was my pleasure to help you kick the redcoat’s butt. In the future, we will hear great things about you, America. Just give it time.”

America was just about to give a modest reply to the flattery, when a soldier looking barely older than him showed up at the tent. He announced: “A British officer is here to see you, Sir. He asked for Colonel Jones specifically.”

Before America could reply, France already rolled his eyes. “Mon dieux, he really can’t help himself. Occasionally I underestimate how bitter that man can be.”

America turned to France. “But I won, fair and square. The article of capitulation was signed yesterday. What is he trying to achieve?”

France shrugged. “Either he will beg you to come back to him while pretending he doesn’t care or he will declare that he wants to continue the fight only to surrender later.”

The messenger was still standing awkwardly at the entrance of the tent. “Sir, the man was adamant about seeing you immediately. If you wish to decline, we can arrange-“

“No need,” America butted in. “I will see what he has to say. Tell him I will be there soon.”

The soldier saluted and exited. America stood up and stretched his body. “Well then, let’s see what the old man wants,” he muttered. He buttoned up his vest and donned his blue uniform jacket. Then he turned to France and ask him if he wanted to join.

“Only if it is fine with you,” France replied. “Perhaps you would like to have a private moment with England.” 

Despite the bloody war and the young nation’s frustration, France intuitively knew that England was still a father to America. No matter how much America resented England’s tyranny, he knew that his father had taken of him and raised him when he was still a helpless child. Whatever the end result of this war would be, the two were bound by their past perhaps for as long as they existed.

But America shook his head. “I don’t think I’m in the mood for that. Not as long as my independence is not fully secured.” He quickly checked whether his uniform fit neatly, as if he tried to ensure that he looked like an adult, and stepped outside. France closely followed.

 

England immediately recognised the lean figure emerging from between the tents. Perhaps the young nation had grown a bit since he last saw him, but his shoulders were still slim like a human teenager’s. The treacherous blue uniform jacket was slightly to big and looked like it would devour him. America’s hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, as this rascal liked to ditch his wig whenever he found an opportunity to do so. The fact that this brat was close to running his own affairs was a bad omen for the world. And if that was not terrifying enough, he was in cahoots with the frog.

“You called for me,” America said. It was not question. England saw that his former protégé tried to play the cool diplomat, but was still too young and inexperienced to master the game. 

England on the other side learned to hide his emotions and when he spoke, the rage boiling inside of him was undetectable in his voice. “So I did. As you are well aware, my men have surrendered yesterday, However, I came to tell you, in all friendship and as your righteous ruler, that you shouldn’t make yourself any illusions about how this is going to continue.

Your declaration of independence is worthless as long as I am around. You cannot just turn the world upside down and think that you can suddenly do however you please. I regret that I apparently did not teach you properly that there are rules to the lives of nations and you’ll be reminded of them very soon.”

It was true that America would have to seek recognition from other nations and build alliances. It was something England had interest in sabotaging whenever he could. But America could not admit this concern.

“You came all the way just to tell me this?” America sneered. “Is it really so hard to admit that you lost the battle? You could have saved your breath.” 

France behind him made a noise sounding like something between a sigh, laugh, and gasp. But America did not care. If England was so impudent, he had no reason to play nice.

“You truly are an insolent brat,” England hissed. “God forbid your ludicrous plans should ever manifest.”

“Well, clearly you need to invoke God, because you are doing a lousy job at stopping me. No force of yours could ever prevent me from gaining my freedom. And honestly, maybe it’s better to die than being subjected to you again.”

“How dare you speak like that to your father?” England barked. “I cannot believe that I had the kindness to raise you as my child and yet you became so impudent. Maybe you need to be taught a lesson.”

America suddenly understood where this is going. “So, you are challenging me?”

“Do you accept?” England’s gaze was cold as ice.

America felt that France was about to intervene and immediately replied: “Yes, I accept.” 

“Good,” England nodded. “We will duel tomorrow. You’ll receive a messenger informing you about the time and location. Choose your second and bring your own weapons.”

“Consider it done,” America replied. “I will see you tomorrow.”

“Good!” This was the last word England spoke to America that day. He turned on his heels, waved his companion over, and the two walked away. Their red coats were gleaming in the morning sun.

France now stepped next to America. “You know, he wanted to be offended. And you’ve just given him the chance to kill you off the battlefield.”

America shook his head. “Then so be it. I am not afraid. If he wants an offense, I will make damn sure he gets one. Only, I do not own dueling pistols.”

“I do,” France replied. “I will lend you them if you promise you won’t get yourself killed. You are still a young nation. You might not be able to take as much as you think, if you don’t mind me saying that.”

“I certainly won’t die at this man’s hands,” America replied. Then his voice suddenly became quieter: “May I ask a favor, France?”

“What is it?”

“Will you be my second?”

Although France had anticipated a question like this, he was still slightly taken aback. He could not think of an instant where a nation served to another as a second in a duel. It tended to make things messier than they needed to be. But then he agreed: “Only because it’s you, America.”

 

America and France were the first to arrive at the meadow where the duel was to be carried out. France checked his pocket watch. It was 12 minutes before 10 o’clock, the agreed time for the duel. America was pacing up and down, checking out the terrain. The sun was yet far from the zenith and the duelists would have to pick their position carefully, so they would not be blinded by it. After drawing several circles, America returned to France who leaned against a nearby tree.

“Do you have any last advice?” America asked.

“Don’t back down, when England tries to pressure you into subjugation again, but don’t be too proud to reject an offer of peace and reconciliation,” France recommended.

“I was thinking about where to shoot him,” America muttered.

“You don’t want to wound him too badly. These things usually just cause diplomatic havoc,” France replied with nonchalance.

America snorted. “Prussia taught me to shoot to kill. I guess I will have to make an exception.”

One minute before 10, England showed up accompanied by that same junior officer. “This is Perkins, my aide-de-camp,” England explained. “He will serve as my second today.”

The men introduced themselves to each other using their human names. Then France brought out the dueling pistols. America observed France and Perkins vigilantly, as they loaded their pistols. England on the other side was ignoring the proceedings, even though he was the one responsible for the trouble. Instead he looked away to the horizon, as if he wanted to avert America’s gaze.

“All done,” France proclaimed and handed America the pistol. It weighed heavy in America’s hand as if the small bullet tripled the weapon’s mass. In his younger years, America would steal England’s rifle to train in secret since his former guardian believed he was too young to train for combat or the hunt. It was therefore not that he was unfamiliar with fire arms. Nor had he ever hesitated during the war. But now he faced the prospect of shooting or being shot by the man who had been like a father to him, even if he failed him in the end.

America looked towards England who casually inspected his weapon. “Is this really the way you want to take this?”

England finally looked America in the eyes. “Do you want back out of the challenge then?” His voice carried that disapproving tone that America used to dread. Even now, its effect was not lost on the young nation. 

America clutched the gun barrel more tightly and shook his head. “No, I just wonder whether you really want to spill any further blood.”

“That can only be avoided by your immediate surrender and apology for your disgraceful behavior,” England snarled.

Any hesitation was gone. America knew that England was serious about his demands but surrender was not an option. He had come so far and settling for anything less than true freedom could justify the sacrifices already made. 

“I refuse to be treated like this,” America declared. “I will not submit my people to your rule once more and I will certainly not apologize for fighting for their liberty.”

“Well then,” France said. “It looks as if the challenger is not yet satisfied. Gentlemen, take your positions ten steps apart from each other. You are allowed to fire, once I drop this handkerchief.” He pulled a thin, white piece of cloth from his pocket. 

The two men, once father and son, carefully observed each other. In his head, America was imagining the trajectory of the bullet. Perhaps he should aim at England’s legs. It would be painful, but not injure him too badly. Then again, he did not know if England had any intention of showing mercy. He might try to kill America while he was not yet a firmly established nation. In that case, America had to be quicker and more ruthless.

As he looked towards his opponent, he wondered if England had shrunk. Or had he grown himself? Not too long ago, America was looking up to England both literally and figuratively. But when he saw this world power now picking a petty fight after a clear defeat, America was wondering if he had ever known the true nature of his former guardian. 

“Ready your weapons,” France commanded.

America pulled back the hammer of his pistol. He could hear England cocking his pistol ten steps away from him. Carefully, he raised the weapon and aimed it at the man in red. A loaded gun barrel was facing him. For a moment, time stood still as the duelists prepared to embrace their fate.

The white handkerchief dropped.

America had one last thought. I will not lose!

Two bangs. Two bullets ripping through the air. Gunpowder filled the air. Then one man went down.

France and Perkins sprinted towards the man winding himself on the ground, moaning in pain. America could not move from the spot. It took him a few seconds to register that he was injured. First there was surprise, then relief, and finally came the realization that America was the one whose shot hit the target. Hesitantly, he walked over to where England had sunken to the ground. The two seconds were crouching over him in order to help the wounded nation. England was clutching his left shoulder. Blood was seeping through his fingers.

“Take off his coat,” France ordered Perkins. “It will be easier to dress the wound.” As the two began tending to the man on the floor, America stood still. It was a strange feeling to tower his ruler, unhurt and victorious. A mixture of emotions overcame America; triumph for winning, sadness for that things had come so far, but perhaps most of all, liberation. This was the end of England’s rule over him.

Just as this was sinking into America’s mind, England gave a loud moan because France pressed a bandage on the hole the bullet ripped into his flesh. Sweat formed on the nation’s forehead as the pain intensified. France reminded the patient to remain calm whereupon England hissed like a trapped animal.

America felt some pity, but he knew this sort of injury would heal soon on a nation.

“You’re lucky I only hit your shoulder,” he said.

To this, England only replied: “You’re lucky I wasn’t aiming.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is a bit (by which I mean a lot inspired) by the 'Hamilton' musical. :P When I saw the play, I immediately thought that England and America dueled each other at some point during the revolutionary war.
> 
> In fact, I have a headcanon that dueling was never uncommon among the nations, even when they would not tell their bosses about it. That's why France just so happens to randomly have a pair of pistols on himself. They just can't help themselves.


End file.
